


Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

by ClockworkSeraph



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dunno what else to say, I see a lack of McCree with this phrase, M/M, So I had to write this indulgent piece of crap, Strong Alcohol makes Hanzo randy and McCree a smart-ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkSeraph/pseuds/ClockworkSeraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reunited again, the Overwatch team had formed traditions, to forge new bonds and strengthen old ones. </p><p>Hanzo was no stranger to tradition. It was welded to his character, gave him direction. </p><p>What he couldn’t understand was why it was tradition for every friday evening once a month for the entire team to use the larger training room to get, to use one of the cowboy’s ridiculous phrases, Drunker than a skunk in moonshine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

**Author's Note:**

> Second attempt at a Overwatch Fanfic with another favorite pairing of mine, Formed on lack of sleep and way to many Ice cream sammiches...Is summer over yet?

Reunited again, the Overwatch team had formed traditions, to forge new bonds and strengthen old ones. 

Hanzo was no stranger to tradition. It was welded to his character, gave him direction. 

What he couldn’t understand was why it was tradition for every friday evening once a month for the entire team to use the larger training room to get, to use one of the cowboy’s ridiculous phrases, Drunker than a skunk in moonshine.

Since joining Overwatch and finding peace with Genji, the old ninja had lost some of his coldness, even forming, dare he say, bonds. 

However, Hanzo still had his limits, and this was pushing it.

Loud music bounced off the walls, everything vibrating with screams of laughter and fun, the air heavy with sweat, booze, and emotion as nearly a hundred people swarmed on the dance floor. Hanzo understood that a warrior's life was not an easy one, the need to celebrate life as well as death strong. Thus, at his brother’s insistence, nay, near begging, the ninja was sitting on one of the few couches and tables that had been dragged in, forming a ring around the improvised dance floor. 

Lucio was nestled in a corner near him, surrounded by the pulsing green lights of his equipment, mixing a song that Hanzo hadn’t even heard of, but could feel a faint soothing beat weaving through the vibrations, and see a golden tone in the rainbow of strobing lights. 

“Clever, that one is.” An open cold beer was shoved into his hand, the condensation dripping on his jeans. Genji had insisted he wear ‘civvies’ for once, and even now after all that happened, especially since that, since they were kids, Hanzo never could deny his brother, even if he did feel ridiculous. “Helps cut down on hangovers...Lucio’s a real smart kid.” Grunting, Hanzo took a swig of the bottle, not looking at the man who sat beside him so casually, knowing who it was from the southern drawl and the way they propped well worn boots on the table before them. Jesse had taken the spurs off, at least. Sparing a sideways glance, Hanzo noticed that the cowboy still had on that ridiculous hat as well, that offensive belt buckle slung low in a pair of well worn jeans. A red flannel shirt buttoned low enough to hint at a body that was just as hairy as his face, although the man had seemed fit to gather his messy hair in a low ponytail. “But I reckon some of us will still be feelin’ the effects of tonight in the mornin’.” Jesse pointed his bottle at one of the many pairs on the dance floor with a smirk. 

Following the line of sight, Hanzo couldn’t help but snort into his beer. The only source of light in that dim room was the strobing lights, and in a wave of red, could see a clawed hand gripping Jack Morrison’s ass in a dim corner, a scarred face shadowed by black curls biting at the soldier’s throat.

“But I reckon they have a lot of time to make up fer.” A pause as Jesse took a drag from his bottle, listening as another upbeat song was played. “We all do.” Looking down at the bottle in his hands for a distraction from the suddenly serious moment, Hanzo vaguely recognized from the label that the beer was German, and was at 43% ABV. Which would explain why he could have thought the lion on the label roared, instead of the giant not too far away. Reinhardt had insisted on being the ‘designated driver/bartender’ or sorts for the evening, and was having great fun by the sounds of it. After a near botched (but mighty hilarious, they mostly agreed, once they were all patched up and half sober) mission full of hungover agents, they had all agreed after that there would be at least one person who stayed sane.

“Big guy knows his alcohol, don’t he?” Grinning, Jesse clinked bottles with Hanzo, relaxing. “Mercy usually is the..uh, chaperone on these things, but looks like she’s mighty occupied at the moment.” 

Hanzo noticed that the medic was engaged in ‘ferocious facial combat’ with Pharah, and mentioned so, earning a deep laugh from the cowboy. Smiling, the ninja tilted his head back drained his half full beer, conscious of Jesse’s eyes eyes on him. Setting the empty bottle on the table, Hanzo chuckled, turning to Jesse with a crooked smile.

“Do cowboys know how to dance, or are you better with your mouth then your feet?” Jesse would have chalked that one as an insult if he hadn’t seen a glimmer in Hanzo’s eyes. 

“I dunno, darlin’, Usually my mouth can get the job done just fine.” Draining his own beer, Jesse grinned as he reached over to pull his dragon into his lap. Bouncing his thighs in tune with the beat in the background, Jesse leaned back into the couch, silently praising whatever star was on his side that gave him the right to call the dragon his, before being brought back down to earth as Hanzo yanked his shirt open wider to gain better access to the cowboy’s throat, giving it a bite.

“Careful of the goods there, Darlin’! I bruise easier than a ripe Georgia peach.” With a drawling purr, Jesse grabbed again at Hanzo’s hips, bringing him in close. Stroking them gently, Jesse nipped at the ninja’s shoulder, moving his hips in tune with the beat and earning him a moan for his efforts. “Course, for a pretty thing like you, I may just let you have a taste.” He’d have to thank Reinhardt for this one, and whatever magical elixir he had bestowed. As steady as they were, Hanzo was never as uninhibited in public affection as he was being right now, and it drove Jesse wild.

“Well shoot, aren’t you a sight, Darlin’.” Running his hands up to rest on Hanzo’s hips, dipping down to whisper in the ninja’s ear. “Sweeter than a fresh cherry pie on a warm sum-.”

Jesse never did finish his saying, mouth suddenly occupied by Hanzo’s, the ninja devouring his breath with ferocity. Stunned, the cowboy whistled low, stars in his eyes as he felt fingers tug at his belt. 

“I have better uses for that mouth, Jesse McCree, if you insist on its overuse on these cliches.” Smirking, Jesse gave Hanzo’s ass a firm squeeze to drag him close enough to grind it to the front of his tightening jeans. 

Five minutes later he was being shoved back onto his bed, a wide grin on his flushed face, unable to resist one last quip in a lustful drawl as Hanzo ripped open his jeans.

“So Darlin'...How would you like to save a horse and ride a cowboy?”


End file.
